Unsent Correspondence
by Greywolf Lupous
Summary: I've written this message twice now. Okay, more than twice.
1. You're Alive

_**Author's Note:** I've had a story building in my head for almost two years regarding what happened to Theron during the five year time skip, but haven't been able to put any of it down on paper. This is my attempt to try and write part of it... albeit in a bit of an unusual fashion_

* * *

 **From:** Theron Shan  
 **Subject:** You're alive

* * *

You're alive.

No matter how many times I hear those words, I can't quite believe they're true. Maybe if I keep writing them, it'll sink in. It'll seem a little less fantastical and more real. Like I'm not trapped in one of those dreams, the good ones that make me want to never wake up again. Part of me wonders if I'm asleep—I think that's why I'm writing this. I don't really buy into that theory you can't read stuff in dreams, but at this point I'll take anything that helps me understand that this is actually happening.

You're alive.

I'm sorry. I keep writing that, but I can't help it. I keep trying to say it aloud, but the words keep getting caught in my throat. I'm not really making a lot of sense right now. Lana must think I'm nuts since I've barely gotten two words out since she said that. That you're alive. That Arcann didn't actually execute, that you're somewhere here on Zakuul, frozen in a block of carbonite just waiting for us to get off our asses and find you and thaw you out.

And with Lana, yeah, yeah, I know. It's a long story, and I know this will sound weird coming from me but I'm glad I met up with her again. Otherwise I might have actually tried to—well, it doesn't matter what I was going to do, because the plan has changed now. It's a pretty simple one, I thought of it just while writing this. We're going to find wherever you are on this swamp forsaken hellhole, and we're going to bust you out.

Because you're always the one to come and pull my ass out of the fire when I've gotten in too deep, and it's about damn time I step up and return the favor. I mean you fought off an army and stormed a fortress to come rescue me—hell, you willingly landed on a planet full of possessed puppets even after I told you not to. You were the best partner I ever had. The best friend I never asked for. Who am I kidding? You were the best damn everything I ever had. And now you need me.

I'm not going to let you rot in that slab any longer than necessary, but it might take time. Lana doesn't know where you are exactly, but I've got something that might fix that. Scratch that, I'm GOING to fix that. I'm going to find you, and we're going to get you out of there. Count on it.

I know that I wasn't the best friend, the best partner after Ziost, that I should have tried harder to call you, talk to you. Should have at least written. Should have realized you were dealing with as much as me—more than me. Once we get you back, I'm going to say something. Say what I should have back then, and I hope you'll listen. I just need to tell you that I—what the hell am I doing? You're stuck in a block of carbonite and I'm rambling nonsense. What the hell is wrong with me? I'm just going to delete this. You've got more than enough to deal with, you don't need me unloading on you like this. I'm sorry.

 _Delete Message? Y/N_  
 _…  
_ _Message deleted._


	2. Signs

**From:** Theron Shan  
 **Subject:** Signs

* * *

Promised myself I wasn't going to do this again, but I haven't been very good at keeping myself accountable lately. I didn't send the last one of these I wrote—it was stupid and I just kept rambling on about things you don't want to hear. I've got the feeling I'm probably going to delete this one as well. It's not exactly like you can read it right now anyway.

Probably means I shouldn't be writing this, since slicing through all of the Spire's security protocols requires full concentration. Except I've been at this for five hours and I keep getting distracted. You would think it'd be by the damnable way Zakuul sets up its networks (there's no logic to it whatsoever, like whoever designed the thing was going for abstract art rather than straightforward data pathways—if I'm going to delete this anyway I might as well complain to someone that would in theory listen rather than roll their eyes at my "slicer snobbery"). But honestly I just keep thinking about things.

Why am I being coy? I'm going to delete this thing just as soon as Lana gets back. I keep thinking about you and it's really distracting and annoying. I should be focusing on the job at hand, but I keep wondering if you're dreaming in there. Are they the good kind? Or is it a dreamless sleep? Once we get you out will it be like no time has passed, or will it have been an eternity? It's felt like that here, even though we're coming up on three years since they put you in there. Hard to believe everything fell apart so quick—I tried to hold things together but I'm only one person. Part of me thinks that if you'd been with us, things would have turned out different. But that's probably just a bit of hero worship gone out of control.

I'm not the only one—that's why Lana's here. She thinks you're the key to defeating Zakuul. You probably can, you seem to eat the impossible for breakfast and then go back for seconds. I don't know if I ever really told you that in so many words (those were never really my strong point, were they?)—or maybe I did and I just forgot. It's been a long couple of years, almost a lifetime. Would it have felt this long with you here? Guess there's no way of knowing.

All I do know is that time's moving different now—it's like someone pressed the fast-forward button and suddenly I'm running to try and keep up. I might have been able to bypass Zakuul's bizarre networking architecture sooner had I been more focused—I'm sorry about that. But they can stack their security protocols as illogical as they want, it's not going to keep me out. I just finished piercing a hole through one of the thickest layers—and I'm pretty sure I've found it.

Or rather I've found you.

It's one thing to hear someone tell me you're alive—but it's another thing to see the proof. I didn't expect it to hit me like this, it doesn't make sense that it has. It's just the life sign reading on your carbonite chamber. It's not like I can see your face. I can't hear you breathe and I can't feel the warmth of your skin—but the data keeps flowing past me and it's so bright and vibrant and _you_ I swear I can feel you all the same. You're so close I can almost reach out and brush up against you—but there's still this wall. You can't feel me, trapped in that tomb, sleeping as if you were still lost to me.

Before all of this, before Zakuul took you away, I didn't tell you how I really felt. How I still feel. Maybe after I get you out of there, I'll have a second chance—hopefully rescuing from carbonite will earn me enough points so you'll listen to me. I'm coming—I promise I'm not going to leave you in there.

Until then, I hope you're dreaming, and I hope they're good dreams. Maybe I'm there with you in them and when you wake up it'll almost be like—I can't send this. I'm making stupid presumptions—why do I keep doing this

 _Delete Message? Y/N_  
 _…_  
 _Message deleted._


	3. Idle Chatter

**From:** Theron Shan  
 **Subject:** Zakuul's Thrilling Culture Scene

* * *

You know, Zakuul's a nice place to visit if you happen to be Zakuulan. Anyone from the "Outlands" is definitely not part of the elite. I wouldn't say a second class citizen exactly—because you'd have to be a "citizen" for that to even count. It also helps to agree with everything that the grand old Emperor says because he's not too fond of dissenting opinions. Better than his sister, though. She's not really fond of opinions at all. Or odd numbers supposedly. I haven't checked personally, pretty sure that would be tantamount to suicide—or at least that's what I hear. Locals are a bit more gabby if they think I'm Zakuulan than if they know I'm from the Core Worlds. I'm still trying to make some inroads, you never know when a contact might come in handy.

But at least the scenery on the surface is nice, especially at night, and they have a certain flair for architecture. Food's just okay, although I'm more fond of the rough spice of the food stalls in the Old World than what they serve in the cafes up top. The fad right now is supposedly Arcann's favorite dish, some Kaon delicacy that the Zakuulans have co-opted and "improved" by substituting their favorite ingredients and calling it their own. Of course all the "elites" are clambering to emulate their emperor and wouldn't shut up about it, so I tried it the other day to see what the fuss was about. It has twice the sugar, half the spice, none of the heat, and all of the blandness of every other dish I've tried in the city. I suggest you skip it.

We probably won't have time to stop and take a tour of the local eateries after we bust you out. Maybe I'll grab you a kellafel to go. Being frozen in carbonite works up an appetite right?

We're getting closer. Every day I get a little deeper into the Spire's network—but that progress is very slow. I've been at this for months and I'm still not done surveying it. Not because I'm distracted (which I am, thanks for that), but because of the damn thing itself. The deeper I dive into this thing the more I'm starting to suspect that Zakuul's engineers didn't map out these pathways. They're more akin to that damn Ascendant Spear than they are to any normal network—like this thing is almost alive. It means I have to be careful. It means I shouldn't sneak in and check on the life signs from your chamber as much as I'm doing.

I'm trying to stop, I really am. Maybe if I actually send this letter instead of deleting it I'll feel like I've actually said something to you, instead of just watching the data flow past me that tells me you're still here. Still waiting. Being next to you again, even if it's just bits and bytes is worlds away from looking at that holo of you I used to have. I know we didn't take one together—I pulled it from your dossier after I heard you had been k—well, I don't have it anymore anyway so what's the point of talking about it?

I just wish I could talk to you again, actually hear your voice out loud instead of just imagining it in my head in a thousand conversations we've never had and never will have. I just want to go one day where my thoughts don't wander off. Where they don't keep going back to you inside of that damn chamber. I used to be able to focus past all distractions, always on the job and never on other things. You shouldn't be stuck in my head like this—I need to focus because rescuing you is what's really important, not that I want to say that I

 _Delete Message? Y/N_  
 _…_  
 _Message deleted._


	4. Weird Readings

**From:** Theron Shan  
 **Subject:** Long Term Planning

* * *

You're still in there. I know that because I keep checking. It's stupid, of course you're in there, because we haven't gotten you out. We've been at this so long I've started to lose track of time. I mean, it's not like you can actually tell in there, it's like the rest of the galaxy is just passing you by. You aren't even going to recognize the place when you get out.

I think the only thing that hasn't changed is that the Republic and Sith Empire are still taking pot shots at each other. It's so damn stupid, like finally winning this endless grudge match is going to suddenly rock the Eternal Empire from it's new place on top of the galaxy. Like Arcann still won't have them all by the throat. Lana and I both have been scouting and I'm really not liking what I'm seeing—and I like what I'm hearing even less. There's some kind of construction going on over hundreds of worlds, and the materials list Lana found squirreled away in an accounting ledger doesn't paint a happy picture. It's some kind of weapon I think. I need to get eyes on one to know for sure, but I don't have time for that yet.

Lana's been talking about Yavin a lot lately, and what we did there. I think she wants to try that again but scale it up. I didn't quit the SIS to go off and form some new rogue government, but she's convinced that if we band everyone together we can dethrone that egotistical bastard that took you away. Don't get me wrong, there's nothing I'd like more than to take him down a peg or three as well, but she's acting like this is some giant Dejarik game where she can arrange the pieces of galaxy at will and expect them to fall into place. You're the king in her gambit to retake the galaxy from that spoiled brat — she's thinking of contingency plans and the end goal. It's classic Lana, forgetting to actually ask the key players in her little games if they want to take part. It's a little too close to her attitude on Rishi for my comfort, but try telling her that when she gets in one her moods. I guess you could say that she and I are having a fundamental disagreement on the reasons for your rescue—but I'm more focused on the "rescue" part. If you still want to save the galaxy after that (and knowing you… you will), she can _ask_ for your help then.

Not that I care, but she's not too impressed with my thoughts on the subject—the term "emotionally compromised" hasn't been said but it sure as hell has been implied pretty loudly. Like after she caught me checking on you again this afternoon, and she even had the gall to say I was actually putting the rescue mission at risk. Like I would ever do anything to jeopardize getting you back. Lana might have run Sith Intelligence for a year, but I've been doing this since I was almost a kid. She's acting like I'm letting my feelings get the best of me when I know what I'm doing.

Also, it's possible Lana may now know that you and I kind of had a thing. Sorry.

But maybe I have been checking in on you a little too often, have stared at your life sign readings too much. I swear they just looked a little weird today. I don't know, it just wasn't quite… right. I've reviewed the logs I was keeping and something seems off but I can't put my finger on it. I'm probably just imagining things. There's a guy in the Old World who knows a thing or two about carbonite—he worked on those chambers on Belsavis actually. I'm going to get him to take a look at the logs (obviously everything will be very anonymous)—just to get a second opinion. I mean it's probably nothing and I'm just jumping to the worst case scenario again and reacting on instinct instead of letting things happen naturally.

I do that. A lot.

If I hadn't done that after Ziost, had gone and had that drink with you I might have seen that you weren't as fine as you were pretending to be. I was too damn focused on my own failings—so convinced that being seen with me would drag you down too. I shouldn't have clung to the SIS so tightly, thinking I could put everything back the way it had always been. I should have took you up on your offer and joined your crew. Then we would have had more time together. That wouldn't have been the last time I felt you in my arms, the last time I kissed you. And maybe everything would have turned out exactly the same but you wouldn't have felt so alone. I should have known you weren't okay. I'm sorry I wasn't there, I just wasn't thinking.

Like I'm not now. This wasn't a conversation to be had in a letter back then and it's still not.

 _Delete message? Y/N_  
 _…  
_ _Message deleted._


	5. A Toast to Our Health

**From:** Theron Shan  
 **Subject:** a toasT to uor heAlth

* * *

You would think that the shiny new center of civilization in the Galaxy would have a better selection of whisky — but apparently distilling a decent spirit is beneath them and most of the imports are sickly sweet concoctions that have no place near a liquor cabinet. I can see you rolling your eyes right now since you never had much of a taste for whisky — rather you would roll your eyes if they weren't frozen with the rest of you. You should lighten up, whisky is GREAT and I have a bottle right here to prove it. Got an extra glass too so I'll just pour you one. I was going to share with Lana but she got all snippy with me, so more for us. Just you and me.

Fair warning if you don't drink yours by the time I finish mine I might just steal it. So drink up. This is the good stuff.

What are we raising our glass to you ask? Well, I guess you don't really ask (because you're frozen), but I'm just going to assume that's the next part of this imaginary conversation I keep carrying on with you. Whatever — let's toast everything, it's a big bottle! The first will be to those brave, enterprising souls daring to smuggle such fine goods right under the nose of Emperor Law and Order. May their escape from this hell hole be as quick as their profits have been.

To this perfect shining city filled with idiots and sycophants, willing to turn a blind eye to the squalor and seediness just below the surface. I mean, Nar Shaddaa doesn't attempt to hide what it is, it proudly displays its garish corruption in all its bright neon glory! No, it takes a special kind of hypocrisy to claim to be the best at literally everything without even knowing how to properly operate a goddamn carbonite chamber.

To the Emperor Asshole Supreme, who lies to everyone about you and is probably hiding something else. May this city and everything he cares about come crumbling around him in smoking ruins and burning ashes — and then maybe then he'll know how it feels. Maybe I'll show him. Like I was going to before Lana derailed that whole plan with this elaborate heist to steal his favorite wall hanging. Just need to find a way into that throne room and I could kill the man that killed you. Somehow. The galaxy would be a better place for it.

Oh, look you didn't finish your glass. Looks like more for me.

And let's have a toast to you — the voice in my head that never stopped whispering, even after you were dead. At first I thought you had actually come back, like one of those Force ghosts you told me about — haunting me every step of the way, second-guessing everything I was doing. I wanted to shove it away and hold it close at the same time — but it turns out you weren't dead at all and I probably just went a little crazy. It couldn't be grief though because you're not dead and how can you mourn the living? Maybe I'll make another toast for that.

To my enduring inability to hit the send button and commit to anything I actually want to say. Because I've gotten to used to talking to you when you're not even here, missing you when you were never even gone. I wanted to move on, but you just wouldn't leave me alone. Always whispering in my ear when I was about to do something stupid, always staring back at me every time I closed my eyes — I even tried to drown you out with someone else once but I couldn't even do that because all I could taste was our last kiss. Could never figure out exactly how much whisky it takes to wash that away. Guess I'll just keep trying.

I need another refill. I told you this was the good stuff, it goes down way too easy.

And finally, to us — the broken us that never should have been. Making promises we could never hope to keep and thinking somehow we could actually save this doomed galaxy together. Except how could we do that when we can't even talk to each other? You let me think things were okay, but they weren't, were they? You felt the entire planet of Ziost die and you didn't _tell_ me. Then you went _back_ there. What the hell were you thinking? What does taking readings of a dead wasteland prove other than you like to torture yourself? Why are you so damn _stubborn_? Why didn't you say anything to me on Carrick Station? Did you think that I wouldn't have stopped wallowing in my own self-pity for a moment to acknowledge your pain? I'm a talented guy, capable of berating myself AND hugging someone else at the same time!

I mean maybe I should have tried calling again, tried your personal holo instead of just the ship's since your answering service sucks. Maybe I should have written. And maybe I shouldn't have waited to talk to you in person the next time you came back to Coruscant because you never did come back, you just left that desolate landscape and headed out to Wild Space and straight into your carbonite tomb. And maybe I should have done all that but this is not all on me because maybe you should have said something to _me_ because why did I have to find out from Doc of all people? That you weren't sleeping because you were having nightmares? That you couldn't meditate without Kira's help? He said you acted like you had lost your best friend and damn it you hadn't — I just needed some time to sort things out but if you had just told me what you were going through I would have gotten on that damn ship with you! Why can't you just ask for help? Why do you keep everything inside? If you needed me for a moment, a night, or even forever why didn't you just say so instead of letting me walk out that door thinking everything was okay?

One more glasss left? why the hell not?

I shuold hav known what we hd on Yavin was too good to be true that in teh end it wuold b just like everything else in my life. Bbut i got swept up in yer stuPid naivety leT myself actualLy believe that youd actually keep your woRd ,…i mean its not your fault Not Really. yuU didnt ask to be handedeD tHe responsibilility of an entire damn galaxy or to be zakZAKuuuuls political scapegoat or to be EXECUTED (& yes technically you werentT but thats beside the Point and im sure iVe got a point in here somewhere) & iM pretty sure you didnt ask to be frozen by the most inepT carbonite technicians in the ENTIER DAMN UNIVESRE cuz if U did then we need to talk but i GUess we arenT gonna get that cuZ yOUR GODDamn jailers are idiots & youjre being poisoned by the carbonite and theres no goddamn cure I asked i asked everyone on this planet who knew anything and ivE been trying to fix this and i cANt & you;re going to die

yuo promised you;dd never leave me behind but youre about to do it again and I GOADAJLNFLJHFAOFN AXH60826022 KVSLAMI26!#42 TSOUHSGDNSKDGSOUJLNWLHYSOUHGSGSEGSGS

 _ERROR  
_ _Connection to server lost  
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	6. sorry

**From:** Theron Shan  
 **Subject:** sorry

* * *

I need to apologize.

I let things get out of hand last night — normally I'm a lot better at keeping everything in. After I got that bottle of Whyren's Reserve, it's all kind of a blur. What's left of the bottle has been neatly swept up into the trash, along with the shattered remains of my old data pad, and about… half the contents of my room. I'd like to tell you that's the first time that's happened, that I drank that much, but that'd be a lie. Property destruction is kind of a new twist though. One of my friends from the SIS was kind of keeping me in check for a while after—well, when I was dealing with your death the first time. I didn't handle it well then either. He's a good guy, it's a shame you never met. I think you'd like him.

I also need to apologize because I don't really remember exactly what I wrote, just… how I felt when I was writing it. It's just all been piling up for so long — ever since Ziost really. I kind of keep stuff bottled up inside sometimes, and it may have all come out. So I'm sorry about that.

I also should apologize for slicing into your mail today. I managed to break the damn datapad so well I couldn't get anything out of it, and while there was no record in my sent box I… just needed to be sure. Of all the things to see when you wake up, I really didn't want a drunken rant to be one of them. I promise I didn't look at any of your messages but from the amount of them… it looks like I'm not the only one that misses you. That's kind of comforting in a way.

I've tried to apologize to Lana in between cleaning everything up and dealing with the worst hangover this side of Rishi—but she's been giving me the cold shoulder most of the day and it's entirely possible I said something that's a little hard to take back. That kind of sounds like me. Probably going to be practicing the word "sorry" for a while, and I'm just going to work off the assumption right now that I probably deserve it.

But most of all I need to apologize for giving up on you — I shouldn't have done that. I made you a promise I was going to get you out of there, and even if I deleted that message I still meant it. I've had a lot of time to think while cleaning everything up today, and I kept coming back to the fact that you've pulled off the impossible time and time again. It's time for the Galaxy to return the favor.

I made a few encrypted holocalls and I think I've got a lead in an old acquaintance of yours who's on the cutting edge of experimental research. If anyone can find a cure, it's him. The Republic has the big guy holed up in their top research facility — but I've got an in with that buddy of mine. Unfortunately that means I need to head to Coruscant, and it means I have another thing to apologize for.

I'm going to try still, but I don't think I'm going to be able to be there when you wake up. I'm sorry. I really want to, but if I have to choose between being the first and last thing you see when you open your eyes or keeping you alive then it's not really a choice at all. But I've already got a replacement slicer lined up — one that you already trust implicitly. I've already asked the little guy to keep watch in case Lana's wild schemes get out of hand.

I'm still a little too hungover to know if it's a good idea to send this, so it's probably best if I delete it. I'll try to send the next one though — I just felt like I should say all that somewhere. It feels a little more real when it's not all in my head, you know? All I do know is this:

I just got you back — and I'm not letting death take you away again without a fight.

 _Delete message? Y/N_  
 _…  
_ _Message deleted._


	7. Miracles

**From:** Theron Shan  
 **Subject:** Miracles

* * *

It's been a long time since I've been on Coruscant — all of the landmarks are where I left them, but that doesn't mean it's the same place. I'm not sure I'd ever go so far as to say that it felt like home, but there was kind of a comforting familiarity that's not here any more. No more loud opinions or political debates as you walk by the Senate Towers — a public disagreement with the official position is a dangerous thing these days. That with us or against us mentality has infected everything.

You'd think that paranoia would make it more difficult to slip in and out of high-clearance security areas, but hey, a guy has to stay in practice. Having connections with SIS and the military also helps. They might have to toe the party line in public but not everyone has lost their mind. And you'd be surprised the doors your name still opens. One of those doors was an Admiral who got me face time with an old pal of yours from Makeb. He wasn't actually that keen on talking to an "unimaginative slicer" until your name was slipped into the conversation. Apparently you made some sort of impression on the big guy.

He's got a big ego, but most geniuses do. I was expecting him to be more of a handful, but he seemed genial enough (if a little longwinded). He hasn't made any promises, but seems intrigued by the challenge of discovering a cure for your condition. Apparently he's bored or something. Whatever, works for me. Of course, even the greatest Hutt mind needs a little time to see if he can pull off a minor miracle.

I've got to lay low while waiting for the good doctor to do his thing, but not so low that I can't make a few inquiries. Maybe see if I can find out what happened to the rest of your people. Some friendly faces might make losing these years a little more bearable. Wish I had kept closer tabs on them instead of letting the reminders of you slip away. Doc giving me a black eye didn't exactly motivate me to keep in touch — but still. So much has changed since you went to sleep. I just keep thinking if I can find some trace of your old life maybe it'll make the transition a little easier.

Lana's busier than ever, making contacts and scouting out planets. Has hooked up with this Zakuulan deserter and they've become as thick as thieves. Still sounds like she's dead set on this whole "insurgent resistance cell" thing. And somehow she's dragged me along for the ride. Conspiring with a Sith to topple a crazy despot trying to ruin the galaxy while the authorities try to hunt us down. Just like old times, huh? Well, it will be once we get you back. Being on the run from the law is much more enjoyable with you by my side.

Probably a good thing you'll be waking up in Zakuul — it'll take a little longer for you to see what a mess has been made here. Paranoia is at an all time high in the capital thanks to Saresh. She's not even Supreme Chancellor any more but she's still managing to pull all the strings. It was bad when I left — but somehow even worse now. There's rumors of political opponents mysteriously vanishing, private citizens and military personnel being followed. The Republic is descending into the tyranny we spent our entire lives fighting. Not sure if this is something that can even be fixed. Maybe Lana's right, maybe we need to start something new. Maybe that's the only way forward.

I'm staying with a friend — my old apartment is being watched — and he's risking enough just getting me in here. Hard to tell what's being monitored and there's too much at stake for me to screw things up with sentimentality. Shouldn't have even opened up this stupid message window but somehow I'm more alone here than I was on Zakuul. How can I miss whispering to a silent wall of data? Probably because I'm an idiot.

I think this waiting is getting to me. Idle hands and all that. I hate sitting on the sidelines as someone else does all the heavy lifting. At least when you were the one on the other end, I kind of always knew things were going to work out (even if you sometimes scared me half to death doing so). Never told you that. Never told you a lot of things. If we can pull all this off, maybe I can get that chance. For now, I guess I'll keep waiting.

I've lost count of the times I've hit this stupid delete button. What's one more going to hurt? For what it's worth I actually wanted to send this one, but I can't slip up when I'm this close to getting you back. I'll send the next one. Promise.

 _Delete message? Y/N_  
 _…  
_ _Message deleted._


	8. The Hunt for the Cure

_**Author's Notes:** Uh, let's see if I make FFnet's overly strict formatting guidelines freak out with this one._

* * *

 **From:** Theron Shan  
 **Subject:** Galactic Grocery Run

* * *

Out of Republic space and away from prying eyes, so I can actually write this now. My new Hutt pal is almost annoyingly confident he can cook something up in that fancy lab of his for your condition. Apparently the cure for a minor miracle requires a few things that aren't standard items stocked in a Republic research facility, so I've been trekking across the galaxy to get everything on his shopping list.

An intergalactic treasure hunt would almost be fun, except for the fact that these aren't exactly easy things to acquire, and moreover its your life is on the line here. The good doctor was kind enough to make a projection on the deterioration of your condition. Not something I asked for, just something he thought would be fun to share, because he's a sharing guy like that. He also tossed in a laundry list of possible complications of the long-term effects of carbonite poisoning, including irreversible memory loss. Of every possible outcome of the next time we meet, I had never even dreamed that you might not even remember me. I'm… having a hard time with that.

Based on his projections, we've had to accelerate the timetable on your rescue. Lana's not too happy about that, since it's leaving so much up to chance. Apparently her inside source with the Knights did not appreciate the change either. Something about patrol schedules and hyperspace routes. None of which really matter if we can't make this cure.

The last item on our Hutt buddy's list is an extract from something that flowers once every hundred damn years on Voss. Which I found more impressive (and a touch suspicious) after I discovered that knowledge of the Centurybloom isn't something Voss share with outsiders. So color me surprised when I go to make my, ahem, acquisition of it that someone's beaten me to the punch and the last known sample has been taken off world by some Twi'lek mercenary who sliced into their vaults. A Mystic taking her trials was kind enough to point me in the direction he went. Which wasn't exactly kindness as it more had to do with some vision she had. I don't usually take directions from random Force visions, but at this point? I'll take all the help I can get.

I need to wrap this up since my shuttle is about to land on Nar Shaddaa. Need to keep my head straight and clear so I can figure out where this guy went off to and what he's up to. I've got a bad feeling. Something is off about this whole situation, but I don't have time to try and figure out what. Chrono's counting down and this is the only way to save you. Nothing is going to stop me from doing that, I promise you.

Whatever it takes, I'm getting you out of there. Even if you don't remember me, or us, it doesn't matter. I never said it aloud, just kind of hoped we were on the same page. Stupid, I know — never said I was good at this sort of thing. I just need you to know that I

y͇̠̞ͬ̈̾̅o̱͒͐ͦ͂̍ͅū ͇̱͔̝͚͆͊̾sͪ̐h͎̟̭o͉͔̳͕̣̾̓uͦ͐̎̈͆͆͂l͙͓̣̿ͨ̾͑ͮ̉̈d̯̠ͪ̇͊ͫn̩̞'̼͋ͦ͋̇̿͂̑tͤ ̠̭̘ͮ͋̅̇p̗̱̲̺̹̰̓̊ͧo͖͈̤̞k̘̱̳͕̹̔ͬ̍e͖͖̻̠̣̺̒̔ͯͅ ͆̑y̩͕͉̖ͯ͒̎̚o̯̞͈̻̻͎̱͒̇̉ͮ̈ͫu̯̪̻̪ȓ͔̱̲̩̮̟ͤ̆̇̓̒ ̪̱̼͕̥͎̍͆̑ͩͬ̅ͯn̳̮̜̩͌̌̄̿̊̚ǒ̤̪̜̺͕ͬͤ̏̚ŝ̓ͮ̃ͩ̂͐e ͓͖̻̺̭̪͈i͍͙ͪ̌ͨ͆ͦ́ͩn͈̏̒̑t̺̖͎̫̋̆̉̓ͮo ̦̥̄ͪ͑oͪͣ̓t͍̞̜̟̥̎̉̅̉̎ͪ̄h̫͖̘̦͆̃̔ͯê̟ͭͨ͛̋̆̔r͈̞͖̎̓ ̥ͯp̄e̤̥̫̩̦̞ͮͬͫ̚o̤p̪l̝̜̞̙͊͋̔ͮͤ̚e̗͔͔'̱͎͓̓̏̎̿̇s̝͎̃̌ ̳͕̾̆b̫ͦ͒̎ͬus̻͖̆̍̄̚í̈͑ǹ̯̯̫͕ͥ̍̽̾ḙ̯͕͔ͪ̂sͭs͓͓̞ ̬̇̀̾ͬ̅ͣa̝͚̞̠͎͈͚͂̉̐̑ͦg̮̎ͯ̆͂͒̃e̮̮̰̱̘̬ͣ̽͌ͥṋ͌̈ͧ̑̔̌͊t̔̉̿́ͨ̐ ̤̫̽ͪͤ͗̋ͨs̲͎̘̝̗̯̲̀̎̓h̺̮á̬̼̖̼̌͑n̲̬̖̭̉ͦͧ̂́͐

 _root tshan_s0110100101110011: /holo/comm/permissions # getprop_  
 _root tshan_s0110100101110011: /holo/comm/permissions # setprop SHOULDNTWORK  
_ _root tshan_s0110100101110011: /holo/comm/permissions # getprop SHOULDNTWORK_

 _l̶͕̟̯̦̼̲̳͕̬̈̅͂ͫͤͩͯͪ͘e̵ͧ̓̒̍̽̾̂̇̋͏͓a̼̘̫̥̹̖͈̍̂̆̈̃̿ͅv̜̙͓͈͙͔̗̥̩̓̔͛͊̽͗͗̀ẹ̵̺̬̰̖ͣͩ͑͂ͅ ̈́ͨ̅ͬ́҉͙̩̺̯̹̩̼̀͡n̿͂̚͏̖̺̩̼̝̗͈͍ö̞̝̫͕̗͔ͮ̕͜w̪̥͈̭̣͔̲ͯ͗̆͆̂͊̋̓͝_

struct init_groups = [ .usage = ATOMIC_INIT(2) );  
 _struct group_info *groups_alloc(int gidsetsize)(  
_ _struct group_info *group info;  
_ _int nblocks;  
_ _int i;_

t̷̛̟̜͓̼̦̟̫̼͔͎̜͂̆̋͊̅̒͐̽h̵̡̖͈̭̳̯̟͓̭͎̗̋͂̈́̒̑̈́̓̈̋̀͗̓̾͘͜ͅį̷̜̯̳̣̟̘̳̗̫̟̱̘̐̈́̅̓̆̊̕͠͠s̵̨̫͙̲͙͇͈̃̈̀͌͛̽̅͋͊̀̚͜͜ͅ ̷̧̛̹̈̓͊̐̃̓͂̉͛̏͝͝į̵̡̛͕̩͈̠̦̝̱̜̀͊̀̅̉̚̚̕͝s̶͇͖̝̠͌̆̌̑͌͌͊̔́͘͝ ̶̲̭̺͎͇͊̈́̆͗̑̓̽̀̅̅̒͜͜ẏ̵̨̺̪̻̱̈́̈̾̽̔́̃͑̆̂̆̃̂͠o̶̢̘̬̠̥͆͋̃͋̇̍̽̌͑́̚͝ư̶̧͎̦͕̣͚̘̤̻̤̜͕̼͎̄̂̽̓̆̉̃̊͌̓͌̆̍r̶̦͕̀̈́ ̷͔̦̲͉͎̥͇͔̳͖͎͈̹̗̂͒͗̄̓̎̕ȯ̵̧̭̞̟͉͕̽̎n̵̼̳̰̺̼͍̈́͜͝l̶̛͙̭͎̼̓͊̈́̇͌̒͝͝͝ÿ̵̠̩̦́ ̴̲̘̼̋̍̈́̆͋̑̈́w̷͎͉̺̝̻̻̗͒͒̆͒͊͂͘a̶͇̟̺̻̓́ṙ̷̡̢̢̮̮̼̺̞͔̲̙͈̺͗̈́ǹ̷̢̃̀̉͂̓̾̆͋̊͠͠i̶̢͈͓͓̺̼̮̟̪͇͚͔͆n̸̢̛̲̲̟̹̭͍̺͖̞̻̼͛͌̆̅̅̒͛͌͛̀̉̂̉̕g̵̨̦̗̣͇̗̖̝̱͎̔͋̇͆̽͂̽͒̑̓̕̕͝

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	9. Letting Go

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Figures when I finally want to actually send one of these stupid things I can't. Thought I'd be halfway back to Zakuul by now, but things… got complicated. Someone was watching me—even all the way back on Corsucant. Thought it was one of Saresh's goons at first, maybe a sad remnant of Sith Intelligence, but after I couldn't shake the tail I should've realized who I was dealing with. Even with Arcann cracking down on the galaxy, the Shroud can still afford the best help money can buy. His latest henchman is a Twi'lek named Skyvthe. A real piece of work, and I hate to admit it, but a damn good slicer. Best defense against that right now is to keep everything offline. Datapads. Comms. The whole lot. Thought I was used to being cut off and alone but… this is different.

Probably stupid to even be writing this—you're not going to see it. But I'm stuck waiting here for a few hours and I just… I need to talk to a friend. Jonas is still on Coruscant, trying to keep his head low and not attract Saresh's attention. Lana's off who knows where trying to finish the hard part of the plan. (I had the _easy_ job. Couldn't even do that right.) I even made a new buddy while crashing a high stakes Sabacc game trying to track down the Shroud's man. Long story. Involves tuxedos, vibroknife fights, a commuter train, and stopping threats of domestic terrorism. Just a usual day in the life of Theron Shan.

Most people would have taken off at this point, but Hylo Visz is cut from a different cloth. I kind of like her — she might even listen and let me vent even though she was there for most of this. But at the end of the day… she's not _you_. No matter how much I talk, she wouldn't _get_ it.

Like, she's kind of had a knowing look in her eye on the brief moments I mention you, but how can I even begin to explain what we through together on Rishi? On Yavin? On _Ziost_? What it was like to find out that you were dead — that you had survived the destruction of the _Terminus_ only to be executed by some half-metal asshole on a backwater planet I'd never heard of. How for the longest time my dreams were only of that. Of a lightsaber through your chest. Or your gut. Sometimes it was quick and painless. Sometimes it was prolonged. Every night it was a different, worse way. And I'd wake up with the memory of the look on your face during your last moments. I couldn't stop thinking about it. Knowing how alone you had to have felt. How you left this world without me ever having let you know how much I cared about you. And nothing I tried (and oh, I tried) could ever make any of that go away — not even when I got you back. Or whatever this nebulous state you're in counts as.

Hylo's a good person, but she's practically a stranger. If I can't even hit the "send" button on a message to you of all people, how can I begin to explain what a mess I am to someone I barely know? She's still here though, and that does say a lot.

Because things got bad today. Even by my standards. We had tracked down Skyvthe, had gotten back the final ingredient for your cure (and Hylo's Sabacc winnings — she wasn't doing everything out of the goodness of her heart). We were about to leave and then he—that Twi'lek bastard had rigged a Baradium bomb. In the Promenade. And the Red Light District. Would only disarm it if I gave him back what was "his". I could have gotten to one maybe and diffused it—but not both. Or I could have just left. Grabbed your cure and ran, but… I couldn't. I know I said I'd do whatever it took to save you, but I... I couldn't do that.

If you ever found out, would you have been able to ever look at me again? Be able to live with yourself knowing the your life had been bought with the blood of innocent people? More importantly, would I ever be able to look at myself in the mirror? I don't always recognize the person I see as is, but that guy… would be a stranger. And Force help me—I thought about it. For a few moments, I considered it. Saying to hell with hundreds of random bystanders as long as I knew you were safe. And I hate myself for it. That's not the man you knew — or the one I thought I was.

Yet I may have killed you by doing the right thing. And I don't… how the hell am I supposed to live with that? Choosing the lives of strangers over you? The person that I… what I mean is that you are… I _care_ about you okay? A lot. Even dead, or locked away in carbonite, or whatever form you take, you're more important to me than you'll ever know. And I let you down. No matter what choice I made today, that was going to happen. And I'm sorry.

I've been carrying around a part of you with me ever since you died. Kept seeing your face when I closed my eyes. Hearing your voice whisper in my ear when no one was talking. Thinking that if I just kept holding on then I would never have to actually say goodbye. After a while, I couldn't even see your face, but your voice is still there. And it's funny, but it sounds a lot like my conscience. Even today, staring down that impossible choice, it was you whispering in my ear the right thing to do. And… that's wrong. I'm mourning a woman who isn't even dead, and have built up this impossible image in my mind that not even you can live up to. And I think that if there's any future to be had, I have to let this part of you go. This thing that's not real, but I still keep stubbornly holding onto. Otherwise I'll never really get you back. The _real_ you, the one waiting back on Zakuul. Who is worth every sacrifice I've had to make to get just this far.

Maybe I'll find the real me too. And one day again recognize the face staring back at me in the mirror.

Got one last chance to make this right. There's an exchange going down in Shadow Town in just a few hours. One of Hylo's contacts let it slip after a little persuasion. Skyvthe's slicing skills are only outmatched by his greed — and has been shopping around ever since he landed on Nar Shaddaa. Apparently someone's willing to pay a high enough bid for the Centurybloom that's worth crossing the Shroud. Idiot. Maybe it'll be enough to cover the cost of the funeral. Found out through the underworld that Barrga the Hutt is a collector of only the finest and most exotic perfumes — and has been looking for one from Voss to add to that collection. After everything I've been through, after getting _this_ close, I swear by the Force, and all of the stars in the galaxy that you are _not_ going to die because some slimy worm wants to smell like a goddamn autumn day.

It's probably not wise to take on the Hutt Cartel without much of a plan, but that hasn't stopped me before. If I get out of this alive, hell, if both of us get out all of this in one piece, maybe it means there's a chance. Not to pick up where we left off, I know that's probably not possible. That wouldn't be fair, considering you might not even know me… or remember our time together. That's okay. I'll remember for the both of us — and that'll be enough.

But I'm hoping we can still be friends. You're a good friend. The best a guy could ask for. And I think I miss that most of all.

Next one of these I write, it'll be shorter so I don't cut into your time saving the galaxy. And I'll actually press the send button. Promise.

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	10. Epilogue: Sent Correspondence

The whisky stung as it came in contact with the split in his lip. It had only recently scabbed over on the long flight, but had opened up again right as he had ordered the drink from the bartender. The metallic tang of blood mixed with the smokey, almost sweet alcohol. He tried not to wrinkle his nose at the taste, still acutely feeling every still healing bruise. His sorry state only earned the briefest of looks, as most of those who either took up residence or conducted business on Asylum had found themselves on the wrong side of trouble at least once. No one really came to the freeport for the sightseeing.

Someone dropped onto the stool next to him. Theron saw the bartender look up and nod an acknowledgement to the newcomer. "I'll have what he's having."

The barkeep grabbed a bottle and glass. "Anything else? Roast gorak is our specialty."

"After seeing his face, I think I've lost my appetite."

"Ha ha," Theron sneered, and then dropped his voice. "Where's Lana?"

"She couldn't make it."

"And why didn't _she_ tell me that?"

"Something about planet scouting, Force alignment mumbo jumbo. You got me. I just do what I'm told at this point."

Theron arched an eyebrow at the Zakuulan deserter, but decided to not comment on the irony of that statement, and instead took another sip of his whisky. He could feel the other man's eyes taking in the colorful mosaic that was Theron's face, which was a far sight prettier than his mottled blue and purple chest thankfully hidden by his standard attire.

"So… exactly what happened?" Koth asked, trying very desperately to not sound as curious he obviously was.

"I ran into a door," Theron stated flatly before taking another sip.

That was a lie. It wasn't so much a door, as another guy's fists. Well, that and an entire side of a building that he had slammed into during a controlled dive after the Centurybloom extract had been knocked off the edge of the platform. Things had gotten a little out of hand during that final scuffle with the Twi'lek mercenary, Skyvthe, that had started that whole mess on Nar Shaddaa. But no matter what Hylo said, Theron most definitely did not fall off a building.

"Well, I hope you got the door as good as it got you."

Theron couldn't help the satisfied smirk that spread across his face, which pulled at his split lip. "You could say that."

He'd gotten in more than just a few good punches during their fight, which had been immensely satisfying. If the Twi'lek hadn't stolen the final cure ingredient, sliced into all of Theron's communications, nearly killed him several times over, threaten half the population of the Smuggler Moon with Baradium bombs, and in general be the worst asshole this side of Hutta, Theron might have felt sorrier for him. Even if the guy survived that fall, Skyvthe would undoubtedly face some very grisly fallout for crossing both the Shroud and the Hutt Cartel.

"Right." Koth managed to draw the single syllable out into three, hiding a grimace as he took a sip from his own glass. "You have it?"

Theron withdrew a small case from his jacket pocket and gently set it on the bar next to a datapad with a cracked display, trying not to wince as the motion pulled at his injuries. Although to be fair, every motion seemed to jar them. The bartender had moved to the other end at this point, still trying to hawk his roast gorak to unsuspecting customers. No one seemed to take notice of the appearance of the innocuous looking box that was just big enough to contain one single hypospray.

"If you don't mind me saying, you don't really look like you should be here. More like floating in a kolto tank."

"I do mind," Theron said tersely. "I can rest later, this is more important. There's only enough for one shot, so tell Lana to make it count."

"Yeah, okay," Koth said hesitantly, and then reached for the case.

Theron didn't remove his hand from the case, and speared the Zakuulan with a look. "You _will_ bring her back."

It was not a question, but an order. Both men sized each other up, eyes narrowing as if trying to interpret each others' intent. Their acquaintance had only been brief — Lana liked to keep things in separate spheres. Less interaction meant less chance of personality conflicts and clashes to derail their long term goals. Among other things.

"You don't need to worry about that," Koth finally said, "I'm not letting Lana go through this crazy scheme on her own."

"You bring Lana back too," Theron clarified, jaw tight as he stared down the other man.

It took Koth a few moments before he finally parsed the statement, and then frowned. "Right. Your Outlander. What is it with you guys? Never seen two people so ready to throw their life away for some assas—"

Whatever he was going to say next died on his lips as Theron made an angry noise in the back of his throat, eyes blazing with a suppressed fury. The Zakuulan had the grace to look a little sheepish and muttered a quiet sorry.

"What I meant to say," he said after a moment, "is that I'm having a hard time believing any one person is really worth all this risk. No way anyone can do what you say she can."

"You haven't met her," Theron threw back. _And she's worth everything_ , the words rose in the back of his mind, but he didn't dare say them aloud. He didn't know Koth that well, and was already fighting an internal war with himself to just lift his hand off the box that contained her only salvation. Just because Lana trusted this guy didn't mean Theron had to.

"You're going to have to let me take that box if I'm ever going to meet this woman and be wowed by her."

"Just to be clear," Theron said, "if for any reason, this does not make it to its intended recipient, that Zakuulan enforcer hunting you down will be the least of your concerns."

"Are you threatening me?"

"Just clarifying." Theron didn't raise his voice, and in fact it dropped an octave as he stared at the other man unblinkingly. "There is no seedy corner of this galaxy that I can't find when properly motivated. And if you come back without her, I guarantee you I won't have motivation for anything else."

"You must be great at parties." The chuckle that left Koth was threaded with nervousness and he tried to cover it by tossing back the entire contents of his glass.

Theron didn't say anything, didn't move his hand from where it was still resting protectively on top of the box. He just continued to stare a hole into the Zakuulan. Eventually Koth let out a heavy sigh and nodded his understanding. Satisfied, Theron lifted his hand, and the box was quickly slipped into one of the deep pockets of the pilot's long coat.

"What I don't get is — your fight with a 'door' aside — if you feel this strongly, why aren't you coming?"

"Someone has to manage the recruitment drive while you and Lana are off playing prison break," Theron muttered, as if that was the only thing that mattered.

It wasn't. It was just that Lana was a paragon of practicality, never letting personal feelings get in the way of the larger goal. She would do whatever was necessary to see that the job was done. Theron now knew that he might not be able to do that, and yet he simultaneously feared that he might even do something that was _un_ necessary. The one job that he wanted to do more than anything else in his entire life, he was uniquely unsuited for — and it had nothing to do with his skillset or any injuries he might currently have.

"You really think this is going to work?"

Theron just shrugged, immediately regretting the action when a ribbon of pain flared up his side. He pressed his lips together tightly until it passed, pretending that he was thinking about what to say next. "The alternative is to do nothing. Let Arcann keep twisting the Galaxy to his will. Which do you prefer?"

"Doing something," Koth said without hesitation, and then shot Theron a grin. "Hey, you might be better at this recruitment stuff than you let on with talk like that."

"I learned from the best." When he smiled, this time it reached his eyes, without so much of a hint of the darkness from before.

Koth narrowed an eyebrow, not quite understanding, but apparently not curious enough to ask who "the best" was. He'd find out soon enough. "Uh huh. Well, would love to stay and chat, but I've got a flight to catch."

"Aren't you the pilot?"

"Yep." He tossed a credit chip on the bar and rose from his seat. "And I know it's not any of my business, but maybe you ought to see a medic or something before you start handing out recruitment pamphlets."

"Maybe I will," Theron muttered, staring into his glass. Out of his periphery he watched as the Zakuulan began to retreat. "Oh, and Koth?"

He paused midstep, but didn't turn back to face the bar or its occupant. "Yeah?"

"I wasn't joking. They don't come back, I'm holding _you_ accountable."

"You're a scarily intense guy — but I'll bring them back. Don't worry."

With nothing left to do, Theron continued to stare at the half-empty glass in his hand, watching idly as the amber liquid sloshed back and forth as he swirled its contents over and over. He was deliberately not looking at the worn datapad that still sat on the bar, waiting for its owner to pick it back up. The stool that had been vacated was suddenly filled, and a yellow hand grabbed the glass from him, gently setting it down on the bar.

"You sure you don't want to go, kid?" Hylo's voice was soft, as if she was talking to a spooked equus. "Still time to catch a ride to Zakuul."

"I'll just slow them down."

"That all it is?" He didn't need to look up to feel the Mirialan's scrutiny, and she didn't bother hiding the doubt in her voice.

"What else would there be?" he muttered.

When he reached for the glass, it was moved just out of his reach, and he finally looked up to see a knowing smirk on Hylo's face. He wrinkled his nose at her in annoyance, just as he had every time she had attempted to broach this subject since they had struck up their quasi-partnership on Nar Shaddaa. All this earned him was her ruffling his hair, morphing the wrinkled nose into a full glare as he tamped down on the immediate urge to smack her hand away.

"You already know I've got other promises to keep," he muttered, carefully trying to smooth his hair back into place. "That cure didn't come free."

"And yet you didn't mention any of that. Or your own little 'prison break'."

"Eavesdropping now?"

"More like making sure you don't keel over and die, you idiot." She leaned back on the stool, and tossed her head to indicate the bustling freeport. "And maybe I was listening in because this place is boring. I like to be entertained."

"That was entertaining?"

"I wanted to see if you were going to make him cry with that tough guy act. Guess he's made of sterner stuff."

Theron thought about correcting her, telling her it wasn't an act, but decided against it. It would get a little too close to admitting the truth, and he liked Hylo — but not that much. There really was only one person he liked that much. And she was frozen in carbonite.

"He and Lana have enough to worry about." Redirecting the subject was probably the safest tactic at this point. "Besides, my 'prison break' is just a Republic lab, not an impenetrable fortress. It's nothing I can't handle."

"'I'? Don't you mean 'we', kid?"

"Thought you said you were done after we pissed off the Hutt Cartel. The ride out here was a final courtesy."

"You pissed off the Hutt Cartel," she corrected, "I was just an innocent bystander. _My_ name isn't on the no clearance list."

He let out a silent chuckle, remembering the look on those slimy worms faces over the holo. "You had fun, admit it."

"Most I've had in _years_. Figure I might stick around for a while, seems like trouble's always following you around."

"I'm oddly touched."

"Don't be. Where there's trouble, there's usually credits to be found." She gave him a light shove on his shoulder, somehow in the one place he wasn't bruised. "Come on, finish up your drink. I've got the ship refueled. Let's see if your Bothan buddy really can help bust that gabby Hutt out of that joint."

The glass was deposited back in front of him, and she arched a dark brow at him. He ducked his head, but couldn't completely suppress the corners of his lips threatening to quirk up into something resembling a smile. He quickly took a shallow sip of his drink, mostly as an excuse to cover his reaction.

"Yeah, uh, I'll be with you in a minute." One hand briefly strayed to the datapad, before he forced it back to the bar surface. "There's just one last thing I have to do."

Hylo's cocksure grin faded to something a bit softer, more knowing. "Take your time."

"I won't be long."

"Don't worry about it." She pushed herself to her feet. "It looks like I'm going to need to pick up some extra kolto packs anyway. I'm not listening to you groaning and carrying on the entire trip back to Coruscant."

"I did not groan. Or carry on."

"Whatever you need to keep telling yourself, Spyboy."

He waited until he'd heard her footsteps fade away before even looking at the datapad that had seen better days. A thin crack ran across the screen, and one of the corners was nearly broken off. It had been in his pocket when he had smashed into the wall during his mad dive to save the cure. The sturdy little device had been with him since he'd resigned from the SIS, and while it technically still functioned, he probably needed to let it retire in peace. And he would — just as soon as he finished what he had started on it over two years ago.

He flicked it on, carefully navigating the menus, until he pulled up his inbox. There was no new mail for him, of course. He'd had to scrub his entire digital footprint after their escape from Nar Shaddaa, and had carefully investigated every nook and cranny of the device while waiting for Oggurobb to make up his miracle cure. When it came to the Shroud, one could never be too careful. He let out a long breath, before he finally pulled up the composition screen.

He sipped from his glass, letting the smoky whisky linger on his tongue as the blank message stared up at him. After all this time, after everything he had gone through, he had no idea what to say. Once he stepped foot off of Asylum he was going to need his entire focus to be on his next mission. If Lana was successful — _when_ Lana was successful — they were going to need all the help they could get. Not just to get the Galaxy back to some semblance of sanity, but also to make sure that Arcann didn't get a chance to retake his favorite frozen wall hanging — or worse. Now that this was actually happening, the new beginning finally here, Theron no longer had the luxury of being distracted. He needed to say _something_ so he could move on.

It took him a good five minutes before he finally filled out the subject line. Something simple, but to the point. "For when you wake up". Because she would. He'd made good on the promise he had never sent.

The cursor continued to blink at him impatiently as he stared at the cracked screen. After five years apart, what could he say? What would she want to hear? She _would_ want to hear from him… right? He swallowed another sip of whisky, and then another. He was nearing the bottom of the glass, ice cubes nearly melted when his fingers slowly started typing. The words weren't easy, they never were, but as he forced them out, one-by-one, it became a little less difficult. Soon his fingers seemed to be moving on their accord, and what he really wanted to say appeared on the screen:

 _I've written this message twice now. Okay, more than twice._


End file.
